


Somewhere, Now and Then

by kaycrow



Series: Sansa Stark x Arthur Pendragon Crossover [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Outlander Fusion, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Multi, Outlander AU, Time Travel, sansa goes back in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaycrow/pseuds/kaycrow
Summary: England, 1945. After serving in the war as a nurse, Sansa Bolton (former Stark) seizes the opportunity of going on vacation with her husband Ramsay to rekindle their relationship. But what happens when Sansa finds herself travelling back in time, to the 6th century, where she meets the King Arthur and his Knights?A.N.//- Needless to say, this is loosely based on the Outlander premise. The story is told through Guy Ritchie’s interpretation of the Arthurian legend, and for that locations and traditions - and the time itself - had to be adapted to work accordingly. Any questions you have, feel free to ask!
Relationships: Arthur (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark
Series: Sansa Stark x Arthur Pendragon Crossover [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705453
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter will centered in Sansa and her life in the present time, so our King and his Knights will not be making an appearance yet. Fear not, I’ll be updating the next chapter sometime today!

England, 1945

How Sansa got bamboozled into vacationing through England, she would never know. One day, she was visiting her aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr after being three years apart, the next, she was walking through grass and mud, her eyes overlooking the ruins of stone, the last remainder of what must have been a majestic castle centuries ago.

Petyr Baelish had always bragged himself of being descendant of noble heritage, a direct progeny of one of King Arthur’s Knights, an information the Baelishes passed from one generation to the next without any concrete proof. As the Second Great War devastated the world , he used the time provided by his lack of involvement to study his ancestry.

****“Impressive, isn’t it?”**** Petyr asked, his gaze following the same path as hers ****“These ruins were most likely the house of King Arthur and his Knights, including my ancestor Sir William”****

Sansa turned to him, arching an eyebrow as her curiosity peaked ****“Most likely?"****

Petyr’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly proud for capturing the young woman's attention ****“Yes, well, there are no factual evidence of the man himself, only tales.”****

****“Folk tales of magical swords, and stones, and wizards, my dearest”**** Ramsay’s voice echoed from behind her, in its natural arrogant tone ****“I highly doubt of the veracity of any of it”****

Petyr had arranged the union between Sansa and Ramsay at the early years of the war, but as both enlisted the army, as a nurse and MI6 officer respectively, their marriage consisted in a few months together followed by years of correspondence. They had little in common, but they were still married, and Lysa insisted that the young couple would benefit from a countryside vacation, even if it’s one to accompany Petyr and Lysa through their historical quest. After all, it was due to Ramsay’s stationing in London that they had discovered long lost records that placed Petyr’s ancestor in that castle during the 6th century.

****“You don’t believe in the Arthurian legend?”**** Sansa asked, as she entwined her arm in her husband’s, following Petyr and Lysa inside the ruins

Ramsay scoffed ****“A man that pulled a magic sword from a stone and was crowned King? How can anyone actually believe that happened?”****

****“Now that you put it that way, it does seem far fetched”**** Sansa agreed, with a frown

****“He was just a man, Sansa. All those extraordinary stories were made just to impress dreamers like you and your uncle”** **

Ramsay had spoken bluntly, as they walked past an archway, his words clearly meant as an offense. Sansa jolted her arm free from his, a little too harshly than she had wanted.

****“Do you think of me as just some easily-impressed girl?”** **

Ramsay looked around the stone walls, making sure they were alone before speaking

****“That was not what I meant, but even you have to admit... Coming all this way to England just to search for a man that lived 1500 years ago, just because your uncle might be his descendant? That’s insane.”** **

Sansa took a few steps back, creating physical distance between them. She shook her head, her anger and disappointment flushing through her cheeks, her vision blurred by stubborn tears that came through, unwelcomed.

****“I didn’t came to England for Petyr. I came here to save our marriage”** **

He tried to reach out to her, but she refused to let him touch her. He was never the loving, caring kind of husband, but Sansa was coming to realize that not only Ramsay was not the romantic partner she had hoped for, he was also cold and bitter and had not an ounce of empathy in his entire body, not even towards the woman he had promised to love for the rest of his life.

_Had he ever loved her, at all?_

※※※※※

Sansa and Ramsay had barely spoken for the rest of the day, after their previous argument. She was hurt, he felt insulted. Even at that moment, as the four of them were dinning with Mr. Manderly, their host and a fellow local historian, they briefly partake in the conversation, but never address each other.

****“So, what did you think of the castle, Mr. Baelish?”**** Mr. Manderly asked, although his eyes came down to his plate, focusing on the stake instead

****“It’s quite a sight. I wonder what it must’ve look like in its prime”** **

The man nodded ****“Majestic, I can only imagine. Do you truly believe it to be the seat of King Arthur’s throne?”****

****“The records clearly state that Sir William lived there. Since he was a Knight of the Round Table, one can only assume that it was, indeed, the court of King Arthur.”** **

****“It’s such a shame we can’t find actual proof to support any of those claims”**** Ramsay spoke, then taking a sip of his wine, his eyes focusing on Sansa’s, obviously trying to get any kind of reaction from her

****“Maybe it’s for the best”**** Sansa retorted, her voice vicious ****“The truth could destroy the myth. I’d rather hear tales of incredible heroes than accurate stories of flawed man.”****

The table felt into a discomfort silence. Ramsay watched her, his icy blue eyes piercing her like daggers, to which Sansa replied in kind. After a few moments of awkwardness, Mr. Manderly cleared his throat, and tried to change the mood of the table.

****“Mrs Bolton, your uncle told me you’d taken quite the interest in botany”** **

Sansa looked from her husband towards her host, softening her features ****“Yes, for medicinal purposes”****

****“Then tomorrow you should visit the Stonehenge. There’s plenty of variety, you’ll find something useful, I’m sure of it.”** **

****“I read that it used to be the ground for pagan rituals, because people believed that the stones had a very powerful, ancient magic energy”**** Petyr boasted, never missing the opportunity to show off his knowledge

Mr. Manderly paused, seemingly considering what to say next ****“Actually, the rituals still continue to this day. Tomorrow, at dawn, the local women will be celebrating the Samhain, but I advise you not to be lurking around during the act, they do not take kindly the presence of strangers.”****

※※※※※

Although Sansa had read about pagan traditions, she never found the matter interesting enough to pursue. But now, being able to see one of their rituals being performed in front of her, that had peaked her interest. That, and knowing she ****definitely**** shouldn’t be there.

And that was the reason why she was up an hour before sunrise, had _borrowed_ her uncle’s car, and had wondered deep in the forest into the clearing only in her dress, shoes and wool mantle. She had been afraid of waking Ramsay, so she’d put on the first items she managed to found in the dark. At that moment, she was starting to regret that decision.

That was until she heard voices approaching.

Sansa hid behind a rock, watching the group of women walk towards the stones. They were all dressed in white, and each one of them held a torch in one hand.

Then, they started to dance. Well, it was not actually dancing, more like swaying around, spinning and swinging their arms and torso, as if they were being guided by the wind. Their dresses flowed in unison, the light fabric coming up and down in waves. The torches emitted an yellowish glow, tracing momentarily the air with each of the girls movements. They sang harmoniously, in an ancient dialect, creating rhythm and energy to their bodies to follow.

Sansa stood watching, in awe. Her skin had turned into goosebumps, and although there was a voice inside telling her to leave, she dare not to move. The voice, more like a soft whisper at the ear, disappeared as soon as the women stopped.

They dispersed quickly and quietly, a sense of peace was all they left behind.

Sansa waited a little while longer, making sure none of them had been aware of her presence. She finally rose to her feet, and walked towards the stones, her eyes set on the taller one, that stood right at the centre.

The wind was stronger now, rushing through her with all of its fury, merciless against her skin and hair.

Her steps were firm, unknowingly determined, as if she was being commanded by an unseen entity.

Sansa stopped in front of the rock, her heart drumming wildly, and she felt the urge to touch it. She held her hand up, five fingers spread wide, and finally she allowed the trembling palm to come in contact with the cold stone.

One moment she felt it all, the next there was only dark.


	2. Chapter Two - Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wakes up, and a feeling of unease settles in. She needs to find her way back to the road, but before she can she finds herself thrown in the middle of a swordfight.

**Chapter Two - Mistakes**

Sansa opened her eyes slowly, regaining consciousness, and only then she noticed she was lying on the floor, next to the stone. She got up quickly, walking away from the circle of stones towards the road. 

She must’ve fainted, she thought to herself, lost likely due to the excitement created by her transgression.

Sansa stopped abruptly, looking around her. She should be by the car then, but the vehicle was no where to be seen, and there was no asphalt lane on sight either. _Had she passed the road already?_ Doubtful. The stones were settled on flat lands, there’s no possible way she could have walked right by the road without seeing it.

_Maybe she had walked in the opposite direction._ Sansa strode hastily towards the stones, and right through them on a straight line, taking a few more steps into the woods before stumbling on her own foot.

_The road had disappeared._ How was that possible? Roads don’t simply seize to exist. Maybe she was hallucinating. Maybe she had come across some poison flower or herb that had caused her disorientation. That sounded reasonable. She should just stay put, and wait for someone to come and look for her. But how long could it take? No one knew she was missing, and no one could’ve guessed she would be by the stones.

Sansa decided not to wait, then - mistake number one.

_She would later come to the realization that she had made a **lot** of mistakes that day._

She looked around for a while, pondering on her options. If she simply walked through the woods in a straight line, she might ended up finding the lodge they were in, or in the least she would end up finding someone she could ask for help.

So, she walked.

She must’ve walked for a couple hours - the sun was setting higher - when she heard voices not far from her. She then fasten her pace, wondering in said voices might belong to her family, that after noticing her absence had come looking for her.

Sansa was running now, her mantle hanging loose on her arms, as she became closer the voices grew louder and restless.

She found herself on higher ground, looking down to a small stream, and the man that stood by it.

Uncle Petyr.

Sansa stepped down from the small hill carefully, trying not to slip on the mud. She’d been so happy to see a familiar face, or any face at all, for that matter, that she ignore all of her self-preservation instincts, specially that loud voice inside of her that yelled **_something’s wrong_**.

That was until Petyr reeled swiftly on his feet as he pulled up a large bow, shooting a fast arrow that hit a man on his chest with a thud, and the man fell on the floor, chocking on the blood that gushed from his mouth.

Sansa gasped, frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of control, and only at that moment, as the adrenaline kicked in, she could see all the deviations she’d ignore before. The man looked identical to her uncle, yes, but his hair was longer and untamed. His clothes were archaic, medieval maybe? Was her family having a laugh at her expense, pranking her with some humorless practical joke? Had she stumbled upon a festival ceremony, a war reenact, that somehow her uncle was taking part of? She wanted to believe so, as any fool would, but Sansa was no fool. She knew well the smell of blood, she had it with her everyday for three years, and she would never be able to erase it from her mind.

The man, whom she was most certainly sure was not Petyr, had heard her approaching - if not, he definitely heard her gasp - and spun around, facing her, bow armed and aiming. 

Everything became a blur, as she went into shock. Her breath became erratic, as everything around her seemed to be spinning in slow motion. 

The _faux Petyr_ looked at her, confused, as he lowered the bow, asking her something she couldn’t hear due to the drumming of her pulse. He tried to walk to her, but she backed away, stumbling on rocks and loose branches.

Suddenly something else caught his attention, as two men came out of the shadows, axes and swords aimed high. The archer easily evaded their attack, and as he struggled with them Sansa took the chance to ran as far away from that horrible scenery as her feet allowed her.

Sansa kept glancing over her shoulder, to make sure no one was coming after her, that she forgot to see what’s ahead of her, colliding harshly against someone. She stumbled back, as she’d lost her balance form the impact, and she would had fallen if that someone hadn’t steadied her in place, his hands pulling her waist roughly against him.

**“What do we have here?”** he asked, pulling her close as she tried to free herself **“A pretty girl, with a pretty red-hair...”** He spoke with an heavy accent, as he moved his fingers along a few hair strands. The man looked exactly like what she expected from a Saxon warrior - strongly built, with a long and unkempt mane and beard as light as sand, rugged leather and heavy fur covering his body, and a strong scent of beer, sweat and horse shit that had Sansa holding a gag, as his hand went from her hair to the outlines of her face.

**“Let me go!”** Sansa’s voice is low and menacing, as she kneed him in the crotch, making him let go of her as he struggled to stay upright

Sansa tried to ran away, but she hadn’t made very far when she felt his arm pulling her back, and towards the ground. She struggled to set herself free, but he had her pinned down with his body, his hands pressing her wrists. His eyes are feral as he leans down over her, and as she turned her face away, dodging his kiss, he settled his chapped lips on her neck, and at the same time he brought one hand down, lifting her skirt and squeezing her thigh.

That small distraction was all Sansa needed to use her free hand to reach for a rock nearby and bash it against the man’s temple, whom quickly rolled off of her, screaming in pain.

Sansa struggled to rise herself from the ground, her body was sore and tired, but as she did her attacker was already in front of her, with blood streaming down from the cut under his eyebrow, and a fire in his eyes that meant he wanted to see her bleed.

**“English bitch!”** he slapped her across the face, hard. Sansa fell on the floor, powerless from the blow, instinctively setting her cold hand against her burning cheek. The man throttled towards her with malice intent, but she would not give up without a fight. When he was right in front of her, ready to do what he wanted, she kicked him on his knee, making him loose his balance.

Sansa got up quickly this time, just in time to see a third person approaching, fast. He held a long sword in his hands, engraved with runes that seemed to glow as he took a stronger grip on the leather handle. _Was the blow on her cheek so strong that she was seeing things?_

The swordsman made a swift motion with his sword, sweeping from side to side, pulling it closer to his shoulders right after. Her attacker gasped, his eyes opened wide. His head, now detached from the rest of his body, slid down from his neck and rolled onto the ground, only coming to a stop by Sansa’s feet, whom grunted, with repulse, as she quickly kicked it to the side.

The stranger in front of her chuckled at that as he advanced in her direction, but Sansa stepped back, with her eyes set on the weapon on his hand, creating a comforting distance between her and the armed man.

**“It’s okay, I mean no harm”** The man said, as he put the sword back to its leather sheath, and held his hands up, a simple gesture of surrender **“What are you doing alone in the woods, dressed only with a...”** he pointed to her bloodied and dirty dress **“...nightgown?”**

**“It’s none of your business!”** she tried to sound fearless, but her frail voice betrayed her 

**“Alright, then, have it your way”** he added with a smile, as he sat down on a rock with slow movements, placing his right hand inside his jacket against his left side ribs, frowning as he pulled it out and saw it painted red.

**“You’re bleeding”** Sansa noted, her medical training kicking in immediately, but still she hesitated, and did not move. He had helped her, by beheading a man. He seemed harmless, but the dead man would beg to differ. 

**“Vikings are hard to kill”** he replied, with a sly grin, which made her instinctively arch her brow. _Was he seriously cracking jokes as he bled to death?_

**“I can help you, I’m a nurse”** Sansa said, as she walked towards him. He looked confused **“An healer. May I?”** she pointed, and as he nodded she sat down on her knees in front of him.

He took his jacket off, allowing her better access to the wound. She rose his shirt carefully, just high enough for her to see the source of the blood.

Her eyes were focused on the cut. His eyes were focused on her.

Footsteps echoed from the tree lines, waking them both from their trance. A man came rushing in, the same man that looked like Petyr but _wasn’t_.

**“Ah, I see that you’ve found my ghost”** he joked at first, but his face changed instantly as he saw the man’s condition **“Are you hurt?”**

**“It’s not deep, it’ll only require a couple stitches. But I have to clean it first.”** Sansa spoke, as she tore the hem of her skirt and used it as gauze.

The archer looked at her, astonished, and then back at the swordsman, who grinned at him in response

**“She’s an _healer_ ”** the swordsman vexed

At that Sansa pressed the cloth a little harshly, and the man winced, just like she knew he would.

A thin smile appeared on the archer’s lips as he spoke **“I’m gonna get the boys, we’ll set camp here” he turned to leave, but then turned back “You should’ve stayed at the castle like I told you to”**

**“Bill, just go already!”**

**“I’m going, I’m going...”** the archer, Bill, replied, but before he moved he looked down at Sansa **“Take good care of our Majesty, if you please”**

**“Bill!”** he swordsman yelled exasperated, and Bill walked away, boastful.

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at that interaction, forgetting momentarily the strangeness of her surroundings. She pulled the fabric away from the cut and folded it in reverse, inspecting the wound. The flow had almost stopped, she could tend the cut now, but she decided to wait for Bill to come back with the group, they had medical supplies, certainly. So she sat the dry side of the cloth back on the man’s ribs, only then noticing how his eyes followed her every movement.

Sansa cleared her coarse throat **“Are all people this formal around you, or is it like a petname?”**

Now it was his time to laugh, and he did so loud and cheeky, clearly amused by her boldness.

**“You can call me Arthur”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the update, I'm really enjoying writting this piece!
> 
> For more regular updates - and artwork - you should definitely check my Tumblr at eamesandbellamyaremyheaven!


	3. Chapter Three - A Merry Group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds herself amidst familiar company, as her journey takes an unexpected turn...

**Chapter Three - A Merry Group**

_Sansa leaned over the dark wood table, pushing books and old parchments aside as she gave them a quick look, noticing how the sunlight bathed the weathered paper, magnifying the familiar smell she had always been fond of._

_The library was always Sansa’s favorite room from the Eyrie Manor. She had moved in in her aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr at the tender age of eleven, when her parents died, and had spent most of her time at that table, as Petyr recalled the tales and stories of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table._

_The Moon Door, her uncle had named the room, it stood at an impressive height of twenty feet tall, in the least, and had book-filled shelves that covered most of the walls. But its name was due to the large skylight at the center of the room, a massive round glass window bay that was directly above the table, allowing both sun and moon to be as clear as a painting on the ceiling._

_“So, what do you think of my discoveries?” Petyr inquired, expectantly, as Sansa examined the page in her hand “This is it, I can feel it”_

_Sansa looked from the paper to her mentor, arching her brow “Are you sure?”_

_Petyr walked towards her, holding her shoulders, shaking them lightly._

_“Sansa, we found Camelot”_

※※※※※

Sansa tried to find a rational explanation for everything she’d been through since she woke by the stones, but the truth was, as much as her skeptical mind tried to reason against it, she knew deep in her heart that she was no longer in the 20th century.

But where - when? - was she then? The historian in her was telling her she knew exactly where she was, and the logical was telling she was behaving like a fool.

It’s impossible she had travelled back in time!

Isn’t it?

Sansa watched as a small group of men followed Bill into the site, just as she had stopped the cut from bleeding. They were taken by surprise by her presence, they all eyed her with curiosity, but none dare to say a thing. Bill instructed them to gather wood and start a fire, and then he walked closer to where Sansa was tending Arthur.

**“How’s he?”**

Sansa turned her head around to face the man **“I stopped the bleeding, but I still need to clean and disinfect the wound before I can dress it”**

Bill stood motionless, with a blank expression.

**“You know, remove the dirt and apply an agent that discourages germs and promotes the healing?”**

Bill scratched the back of his head, oblivious to her meaning **“Germs...?”**

Sansa sighed **“I need clean water, clean bandages and iodine”**

He eyed her as she was speaking some foreign language.

 **“Merthiolate?”** she tried again. No response.

 **“Dilute Carbolic?”** she pressed, this time sounding more impatient. And yet, nothing.

**“For fucks sake, do you have alcohol!?”**

_Shit._

She’d yelled this time, her patience long gone. Now everyone was looking at her with shocked expressions, even Bill looked surprised, wide-eyed... Was that a smirk on his face?

 **“There you go, miss, that we have plenty”** A man approached her, pushing a flask of an heavily alcoholic mead towards her, the smell alone was enough to itch her nostrils

“Thank you...” 

**“Wetstick”** he nodded, and then went back to his chores

Quickly they had gathered everything she needed, and Sansa was able clean the wound better, and see the damage properly. It wouldn’t require stitches after all, but there was still something unpleasant she needed to do...

 **“This will hurt”** Sansa looked from the alcohol-drenched cloth to Arthur, who gave her a nod

**“Just get on with it, Red”**

She pressed the fabric against the open wound, and he flinch for a second, but quickly regained his composure. This is a man that’s used to the pain, she thought, as she dressed up his lower abdomen. She’d seem many, in the three years she spent in France. Soldiers. Fighters.

She noticed the exchange of looks between Arthur and Bill.

 **“Now that you’ve finished...”** Arthur spoke, as he pushed his shirt down, his voice calm but domineering **“Why don’t you tell us your name and what you’re doing here, alone, in the woods”**

Sansa used the remaining of the water to wash the blood off her hands, while simultaneously thinking of what to say. She was a combat nurse, and any officer knows that the basic rule of withstanding an interrogation is to speak as truly and simple as possible, only leaving out essential details that must stay secret.

 **“My name is Sansa Stark”** she had no idea why’d she gave her maiden name, but now she couldn’t take it back without sounding like she was hiding something **“I was traveling from Salisbury with a manservant to visit relatives when we were set upon by highwaymen. I managed to escape but had to leave everything behind...”** she paused, as she dried her hands, and since no one objected, she continued **“I wandered through the woods for a while until I found myself thrown into your... quarrel with the vikings”**

 **“To where”**

**“Excuse me?”** Sansa turned towards the voice, it was of a man that stood watching from afar, a tall, strong figure of darker skin, who spoke slowly, yet very assertive

**“To where were you traveling?”**

**“London”**

**“Don’t you mean Londinium?”**

_Londinium? As in the ancient city? What in the..._

**“Yes, of course”** _Why not? Whatever to have them off her back._

They seemed to ponder on her words, trying to find a flaw on her story. She waited, her head held high, trying to look as convincing as her story, but honestly, the events of the day had taken its toll. She was assaulted, beaten, nearly raped, and apparently, now under interrogation.

 **“We’ll take you back with us to the castle, from there you can easily get to Londinium”** Arthur offered as he stood and walked towards the horses

_Oh no._

**“Thank you, but there’s no need..-”** Sansa spoke quickly, feeling herself tensing. London was 90 miles away from the stones.

 **“It’s a day ride, and you’re on foot”** He cut her off, as he walked back to her, pushing the cloak he held on his hands towards her **“I insist”**

※※※※※

The ride was difficult, to say the least. Since Sansa had no horse, Bill offered to take her with him. They left right after lunch, and rode until the sun started to set. Sansa was an experienced rider, her father used to own horses, but she had never rode so many hours at once. By the time she stepped down her horse, her back hurt like hell and her legs trembled like she had never took a step before in her life.

They set up camp at a clearing, on a small hill. They had supper - wild rabbit, courtesy of Bill - and by then everyone was already fast asleep around the bonfire.

Sansa rose from her spot, holding the cloak tighter. It was a beautiful night, with clear skies and bright stars, but it was also a cold night, the frost was settling in the grass and the autumn breeze chilled her exposed skin.

She zigzagged through the men carefully, hoping no one would hear or sense the movement. Once she was in the clear, she took a last glance towards the men, who stood still in deep slumber. She walked towards the edge of the cliff, that stood over a stream, raising her head towards the sky, as she took a deep breath.

As they ate, Arthur made a point of introducing her properly to the group. Bill was, in fact, Sir William Wilson - as in, Petyr’s ancestor - Wetstick was actually named Sir Tristan, the older man was Sir Bedivere and the two other man are Sir Percival and Sir George.

Sansa had the honour of travelling alongside King Arthur and his group of merry Knights, as he so humorously informed her, to which Bedivere snickered, Bill and Tristan snorted a chuckle, George remained serene and Percival sulked. A merry group, indeed.

Sansa looked towards the horizon, as far as her eyes could see. There should be lights ahead - electric lights, that is. But the night was pitch black, with the exception of the starry sky and the grand full moon.

Somehow, Sansa had managed to travel through the stones, and back in time, into the Arthurian era. She couldn’t deny it anymore. Petyr would be proud of her. Or jealous.

**“You’re not considering jumping, are you?”**

Sansa yelped, startled, turning around quickly towards the voice. Arthur stood at a short distance from her, but not close enough to make her uncomfortable. 

A sly smirk passed through his lips as he crossed his arms in front of his chest **“I had to go after you and the water seems bloody freezing”**

 **“And risk you open your wound again? Just sounds like more trouble for me”** Sansa added, mimicking his gesture, then nodding her head **“Does it hurt?”**

**“A bit, yes”**

**“Good”** she spoke cheeky, and he laughed, carefree and wholehearted. She’s disarmed by the sound of it, and briefly smiles back at him, but immediately tried to cover it, adjusting her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Arthur uncrossed his arms, extending one hand towards the camp **“You should try to get some rest, tomorrow we’ll ride longer, if we’re to make back to Camelot before the sun sets”**

_Camelot._

Petyr had been wrong about the whereabouts of the legendary castle, after all. Sansa wanted to believe that one day she might show him the exact location of it, but the further she travelled from the stones, the less she believed she would ever return back, to her family, to Ramsay, to her own time. _Back to where she belonged._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the update, I'm really enjoying writting this piece!  
> For more regular updates - and artwork - you should definitely check my Tumblr at eamesandbellamyaremyheaven!


	4. Chapter Four - Trusting Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gains the group trust, as she nurses an injured Arthur back to health. But as new troubles arises, will she side with the knights, or will she take the oportunity to go back to the stones?

****Chapter Four - Trusting Hand** **

The party continued their journey at the first light of the day, riding at a slowly but steady pace. Sansa felt her eyelids growing heavy, the bouncing of the horse gallop lulling her weary body. She did try to sleep, after her late night encounter with Arthur, but sleep doesn’t come easy for a racing mind, and the moments she’d allowed herself to succumb to her exhaustion, she would wake at the smallest sound or movement. _A causality of war._

Sansa tried to keep herself awaken, as her body carelessly bounced along with the trot. Her eyes shifted from the dirt road to the tree lines, focusing on the autumn colors of the foliage. She then looked around at her travelling companions, wondering if they felt as tired as she was. But when her eyes landed on Arthur, though, she felt as if her heart had jumped a beat.

****“Hold him, he’s going over!”** **

Everyone turned just in time to see a lifeless Arthur falling down from his saddle, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Sansa jumped out of her seat and ran towards Arthur, instinctively holding his face in her hands, while trying to sense his pulse on his jugular vein. She could feel his pulse, faintly. He was feverish, too, pale and covered in a thick tier of sweat.

 ** **“Tristan, held his head high, please”**** she commanded, and he obeyed immediately. Sansa pulled his shirt up, and pushed the cloth dressings aside. She gulped down the bitter taste she had in her mouth, as she sat aside the blood-red drenched bandages and focused on the infected open wound, trying to stop the blood flow.

 ** **“The wound’s open again, and the**** ** _ **idiot**_** ** **’s been riding all day with it bleeding out”**** Sansa said, as she got up to her feet ** **“the cut’s infected, which is causing the fever”**** she cleaned her hands on her already stained dress, focusing her eyes on the ground around her.

 ** **“Bring me fresh water and start a fire,**** ** _ **right now**_** ** **”**** she demanded, as she started to walk away, but Bedivere cut her way

****“Where do you think you’re going?”** **

Sansa looked at him unfazed, the instinct of saving someone else’s life overpowering the fear of losing hers ** **“He’s bleeding to death, and even if I stop the bleeding, he’ll succumb to the infection. So, you need to get out of my way and let me find the herb I need to save your bloody King”****

Bill stepped towards her ** **“What kind of herb?”****

Sansa had read many books about medicinal herbs, so she scrambled her mind over which one was more probable to find in the English woods. _Yarrow? Jasmine? Cinquefoil?_

 ** **“Greater Plantain”**** _what was the most common name of it?_

 ****“** ** ****White Man’s Foot? That hill’s covered with it”** **

****“Show me”** **

By the time they came back with a handful of the weed, the fire was already aflame. Sansa asked Tristan to boil some water with the roots, while she started to pick the leaves and smashed them. She took the moist mass and set it on top of his wound, securing it in place with another ripped piece from her dress. _If he continued to bleed like that, she’d be naked in no time._

※※※※※

It was almost night when she managed to effectively stop the blood flow, and by then the antiseptic properties of the herb seemed to be working. Arthur felt cooler to the touch, she noticed, as she damped the cloth in fresh water and set it on his forehead. He was resilient, she had to give him that. He stirred in his place, as he begun to wake up. He opened his eyes and came to his senses with a jolt so strong that Sansa had to place an open hand on his chest and push him down.

****“Stop it, or you’ll ruin the dressings”** **

Arthur smiled weakly ****“I owe you another one, Red”****

_Again with the Red._

****“I need to start charging you, then”**** Sansa joked, as she looked down, making sure the bandages were still in place. She then noticed his hand on top of hers. It had been there for a while, she had felt its weight since he woke up.

****“Trying to hustle an hustler, are we now?”** **

Arthur’s voice brought her back to reality, and Sansa pulled her hand from under his. His grin shifted a little, although he tried to hide it. He started to straighten up, so Sansa got up to her feet immediately, ready to intervene just in case he moved too fast and ripped out the poultice.

Sansa decided to help him up, trying to minimize the damage. She held her hand out towards him with an inviting smile, and he took it kindly in his with a soft smirk. He winced as the strain of the muscles increased the pain, so Sansa continued their previous conversation, trying to advert his mind elsewhere ****“I’m not hustling anyone. I’m a nurse. I usually get paid for it”****

By now his mind was elsewhere, alright. His mind and his eyes, too. He was looking - and not so subtly - to her chest area, and only then Sansa realized the double meaning of the word.

 ** **“Not that kind of nurse!”**** she yelp, slapping his hand away from hers

He chuckled ****“Can’t blame a lad for staring”****

 ** **“What kind of King are you?”**** she asked aloud, incredulous

He picked up his sword, which under his grip seemed to light up a bright glow, and tucked it away on his holster.

****“The kind that saves pretty damsels from vikings, apparently”** **

_Oh. The raised eyebrow and the grin on his face. The cocky bastard._

****“And I saved you from bleeding out, twice”**** he moved closer as she continued ****“Which means you’re the pretty damsel, not me”****

Sansa caught his gaze, and was instantly rendered defenseless by it. The way his mouth was slightly ajar, but the corner of his lips curled up. His eyes focused on hers, enchanting, tantalizing...

 ** **“I was wondering when you’d wake up”**** Tristan walked towards them, dropping the pile of wood by the fire, not noticing how they both retreated from each other ****“How you feeling, Boss?”****

 ** **“Good as new”**** Arthur joked, looking around ****“Where’s everyone?”****

Tristan hesitated, but Sansa felt she shouldn’t meddle. _It was not her problem._

While they waited for Arthur to recover, they heard from afar what sounded like a large convoy marching their way. Percival surveyed the area, and soon came back with the worst predicament. A large convoy bearing Graybeard’s banners was making its way to the capital, taking the road they were in. They had half a day ahead of them, if much.

All of it was bad news. The vikings were on their way to Camelot uninvited, for god knows what, but without its king the city was vulnerable. Not to mention that if they were exposed, they’d be outnumbered, and without any doubt Graybeard would seize his opportunity to bring down Arthur’s reign and invade the kingdom.

Their next move created an heated argument. They needed to get to Camelot, as soon as possible, but with Arthur still unconscious it was deemed inconceivable. So, it was decided that Bedivere, Percival and George would go onwards, riding full speed, preparing the city and the army for whatever might lie ahead, while Bill and Tristan would stay behind with Arthur.

_The fate of the Britons resided on Sansa’s ability to save their king._

****“Get the horses ready”**** Arthur commanded Tristan, briefly looking around ** **“Where’s Bill?”****

Tristan pointed to a small dense hill, and Arthur started to walk its way. But his steps were heavy and clumsy, and he had to lean against a tree to prevent himself from falling over.

 ** **“Where do you think you’re going?”**** Sansa asked, stepping in front of Arthur ****“You need to rest”****

****“We need to get Bill and leave now”** **

An idea came to her mind ** **“I’ll go, I’ll find Bill”**** he tried to bargain, but Sansa spoke before he could ****“Look, you can barely walk. You need to save your strengths, there’s still 10 miles ahead of us”****

Arthur stood silent, so Sansa took it for acceptance, but when she started to walk away he grabbed her wrist, not with force, but steadying her in place. He gulped, his eyes fixed on her, his chest moving rapidly. He pulled a dagger from his holster, and gave it to her.

 ** **“Just in case”**** Arthur spoke, with a small smile

 ** **“Just in case”**** Sansa echoed as she took it, his fingers lingering until she retrieved hers completely

※※※※※

Sansa walked towards the hill, until she couldn’t see the camp anymore, and stop at the crossroads. To the right, she would find Bill, observing the vikings convoy from a safe place. To the left, she would take the route back, back to the stones, back _home_.

Sansa closed her eyes and shook her head, in disbelieve. Her mind was already made up. What’s about him that bend her will, making her act against her own self-interest? What kind of magic draw her back to a place she clearly didn’t belong?

She took the road on the right.

_Was it the myth, or was it the man?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be something simple, with only a few chapters. Now, it’s so complex that the story barely progresses! Sorry about that, and if it’s becoming annoying let me know!


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